


Walk 1,000 Miles (To Fall Down At Your Door)

by AlexKingOfTheDamned



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Cross-Faction Romance, Established Relationship, Gay Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Respawn, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/AlexKingOfTheDamned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sniper has never been this close to Scout when he’s this close to death before. He’s found his body and once protected it from an overzealous pyro who wanted to fry him before respawn picked him up. He’s seen him get shot from a distance through his scope and heard his shout echo across the field. </p><p>He’s watched him die, but he’s never been this close to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk 1,000 Miles (To Fall Down At Your Door)

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to put a big fat emphasis on PRE-EXISTING RELATIONSHIP because if you missed that in the tags you're gonna be really confused when you start reading. 
> 
> This is my first time playing with the idea of respawn. Normally my headcanon doesn't contain respawn, because I think the idea that these mercs are essentially immortal takes away a lot of the grit, angst and seriousness of war. So I decided to see if I could write angst in a universe where respawn DOES exist and this happened.
> 
> I'd like to make the disclaimer that the lines like "don't be a girl" are 100% contextual and should not be taken as an insult to women. TF2 does take place between the 50's and 70's when the gender dichotomy was very important, especially to men. It in no way reflects my feelings towards men women.

Respawn was a tricky thing to get used to. The idea was awesome, Scout liked it immediately. Information on how it worked was rapid-fired at him the day he arrived at Builder’s League United, but it went in one ear and out the other. He got the jist of it, though. When Respawn is turned on during combat hours, it means he’s invincible.

 

Well, sort of.

 

The first time he respawned, it was after he’d been torn to shreds by an enemy Heavy’s machine gun. He hadn’t been prepared for that kind of pain. He opened his eyes in the sterile locker room and immediately collapsed to his knees and vomited his lunch. A nearby BLU medic had patted his back with a laugh and asked “First time?”

 

The second time he respawned, he’d been burned alive. He preferred the machine gun to roasting until his facilities shut down. He had to take a breather in respawn on the bench with his head between his knees, battling nausea and a persistent shake in his hands that didn’t go away for an hour.

 

The third time he respawned, it was because he fell down a mine shaft. He took a step back and the weightless sensation of falling took him into devastating darkness until the split-second pain of hitting the ground overwhelmed him and he blinked his eyes clear in respawn. He cleared his head by jogging in place for a few seconds, but then he was off again. It got easier every time.

 

By the fifth and sixth times, he only had to shake his limbs out and run out of the locker room, ready to go again. It wasn’t that he died particularly often, he was usually too quick. And there really was no getting used to _dying_. But the pins-and-needles feeling of having your molecules disassembled and put back together in a different place eventually felt like nothing but a tickle, and the pounding heart was expected and everything fell into place.

 

When he saw a new Scout doubled over in respawn one day shaking and crying, it was his turn to slap the kid on the shoulder and promise him that he’ll get used to it.

 

Immortality (to a point) sure takes the fear out of war, though. Scout finds himself enjoying it over the months, despite the gut-twisting sensation of death. He finds new ways to avoid death every day, new routes to take, and he pushes himself to run faster until he thinks he could probably outrun bullets.

 

As usual, Scout is easily able to make his way to the enemy intelligence, barely avoiding being shot on the way. After he's captured it, he knows what's coming next. People are going to start looking for him to stop him before he can bring it back to his own base. It wouldn't be too difficult, of course. He can easily outrun anyone. He made it here safely, after all. 

 

There’s no point in messing with exploring new routes this time. He just wants to make it back as quickly as possible without dying. It's not exactly the safest route, but it's nearly a straight shot. 

 

He learns pretty quickly that wasn't his best idea after a bullet nicks him in the calf. He lets out a small cry, nearly falling and dropping the intelligence, but he manages to catch his balance, trying to continue on as best as he can, but he's slowed down significantly now, running with a slight limp, trying to ignore the pain that shot up through his leg with every step. 

 

He doesn’t even have a chance against the spy who stands, cloaked, watching the injured Scout jog towards him. He has just enough time to take a breath from his cigarette before he sticks his arm out at throat-height, catching the Scout just as he starts to pick up speed.

 

The pain of running into a forearm neck-first at near-top speed has the Scout reeling. He chokes and loses his footing and falls sideways off the metal catwalk he’d been running across. He lands hard, his leg folded under him, and the if the loud crack wasn’t enough to let him know that his femur snapped, the blinding pain that rattled his teeth was.

 

Squinting up at the hot desert sun, he sees the silhouette of the RED Spy standing over him, purposefully a few inches too far to the left to put the agonized Scout in the shade of his shadow. He strolls casually down a walkway, and as he draws closer, the stink of cigarettes follows him in a cloud.

 

“Spy,” Scout spits viciously. His shotgun fell just out of reach, and his pistol is strapped to the hip that’s currently pressed into the ground, the metal digging into his side.

 

“Scout,” Spy smiles, his voice poisonous and sweet as he crouches beside the younger man. “Oh, that looks like it ‘urts,” he croons and digs the tip of his pistol into the younger man’s broken leg.

 

The Scout grits his teeth, trying to hold back a scream of pain as he feels the gun digging in his leg, scooting back just a bit, trying to free his pistol from underneath him, even though he know this is probably it. Even if Spy doesn't finish him off, he isn't going anywhere, and it's not likely anyone else will find him. It's not like he's hidden very well.

 

"Ah, fuck you!" He spits at him, reaching for the gun that he had dropped, still only inches out of his reach. He curses to himself, knowing he was screwed. 

 

Spy smacks his hand away, and wrenches Scout onto his belly. His leg crunches and the young man lets out a high-pitched screech that has Spy chortling.

 

“If you see your mother before I do,” he leans down so close that the heat from the end of his cigarette makes the back of Scout’s neck break out in sweat. “Give her my regards.”

 

Scout feels the barrel of the Spy’s gun press to his lower back, just an inch away from his spine. The bang is so close that Scout’s ears ring, but that discomfort is nothing compared to the earth-shattering pain of being pierced by that bullet.

 

Spy rises casually to his feet and holsters his gun inside his jacket. He taps the ashes of his cigarette into the bleeding wound, picks up the case by the handle, kicks the shotgun well out of Scout’s reach, and makes his way indifferently in the other direction.

 

Scout feels like he's near passing out, the pain is absolutely unbearable. He's about ready to throw up, and he doubts he'd be able to call for a medic in his condition.  He can barely breathe he's panicking so much, his breaths coming in short gasps as he watches himself bleed out from his stomach, absolutely helpless. He can't even move to find someone to help him. His gun is still digging into his side, and staying still in the blazing desert sun is anything but enjoyable. 

 

Dying is looking like his best option right now, because he'd just respawn and be alright. But he's definitely not dying anywhere near as fast as he'd like to be.

 

===

 

Jogging in the opposite direction, headed right towards the helpless Scout, the RED Sniper cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders. He took a moment to collect himself in respawn after his spinal cord had been severed by an expert backstab from the BLU spy, but he’s ready to stalk out a new nest and hopefully pop the spy’s head at least once before the fighting is over for the day.

 

He hears a pitiful gurgle and sticks his head around a corner to see if anyone needs help. He lays eyes on the prone form of the bleeding BLU Scout, and his blood runs cold.

 

“Scout, shit,” he nearly drops his rifle in his haste and sprints the few yards separating them, sliding the last few feet on his knees to put himself on the ground beside the younger man. Their cross-faction relationship has forced them to see one another die more than once, but it never gets easier.

 

Sniper doesn’t ask Scout if he’s okay. He gently flips the young man off his stomach and cradles him up into his lap so Scout can rest his head against the Sniper’s shoulder. He presses his palm into the sticky exit wound of the Spy’s bullet in his stomach.

 

“Come on, I’ll carry you where a Medic can get to you,” Sniper’s heart is pounding in his throat and he starts to try and situate the Scout so he can lift him while doing the least amount of additional damage to his broken leg.

 

"No no nonono!" The Scout screams out, even the slightest movement making the pain that much more intense. "Leave me- leave- just-" He pants out, trying to catch his breath, gasping for air. He's clearly very close to death, but still not close enough to respawn. He wants the pain to be over now, he doesn't want to wait for a medic to heal him, he can't wait to just die on his own. Every second that passes just makes everything more and more unbearable.

 

"Just kill me, shoot me, right now, please let me- I gotta respawn, I-I can't- I ain't w-waiting, just fuck, fuck, kill me, shoot me, c'mon!" He begs the Sniper, voice shaking, desperate.

 

In all of the months they’ve spent together, hiding in back alleys, locking the door to Sniper’s camper to spend a few frantic hours together, in all of the hiding and fear and lonely nights and frightening days, wondering if today is a day they’ll come across their lover’s body dead on the field before respawn can capture it, this has never happened.

 

“I can’t do that, you know I can’t do that,” Sniper’s voice cracks and he tries to comfort the dying man. He can feel the heat leaving Scout’s body despite the scorching sun and he tries to keep him warm, holding him closer than is probably comfortable for his wrecked body.

 

He knows someone could find them. In an instant, someone could come around the corner and see their Sniper cradling the dying body of the enemy like he could save his life if only he could give him his own body heat. Months of careful hiding could be ruined and both of them will be killed – killed for real, permanently.

 

"No, no, please…" He shakes his head, his eyes getting heavy. He’s having a hard time keeping them open. "Just kill me, c'mon, I don't wanna put up with this- I'll just- come on please, I'm gonna respawn, I need to respawn!" He manages to gasp out, choking on a geyser of blood that comes up, before it spills out of the corners of his mouth.

 

If he had the strength he'd beat the shit out of the Sniper for being so stupid. They could get caught if he kept him like that! If he wasn't as freaked out as he was, he might be able to see why the Sniper really doesn't want to shoot him, but in the state he's in, he can't see why it would be anything other than a great idea. He'd be back in base in a few seconds anyway, perfectly fine. 

 

By the looks of it, if Sniper waits any longer he'd die on his own anyway. But being shot in the head and making it quick is a lot more preferable.

 

Sniper’s hands shake. He’s never been this close to Scout when he’s this close to death before. He’s found his body and once protected it from an overzealous pyro who wanted to fry him before respawn picked him up. He’s seen him get shot from a distance through his scope and heard his shout echo across the field. He’s watched him die, but he’s never been this close to it.

 

Scout’s hurting. He can see the pain in his eyes, screwing up his young features, too young for war. Sniper’s throat closes up and he draws his SMG. Scout closes his eyes tight when he feels the cool metal press against his temple.

 

He’s gone before the pain can even register.

 

Sniper drops the gun, it kicks up a small dust cloud as it lands heavily in the dirt. One arm still wrapped around the limp Scout’s shoulders, his other hand is suspended in midair. He doesn’t know what to do now. Blood sprayed from the wound in the Scout’s head, painting the ground. He feels sick.

 

He can’t stay. If he could, he’d stay there forever. He lays Scout’s body down and runs away, leaving behind his gun and the funk of death. He’s choking on his own breath, tripping up stairs, and corners himself in a new nest, clutching his rifle like a life preserver.

 

The gravity of what he’s just done weighs on him like a buoy. It bobs and sways in the heat of the desert sun, taking him and leaving him and then overwhelming him again. He’s never killed the Scout before. Even when they were still enemies, before their secret rendezvous started, he’d never been quick enough to shoot the speedy anklebiter.

 

He doesn’t cry. He’s too dehydrated to cry. He presses the barrel of his rifle to his burning forehead to give him some relief from the heat, but he can’t even keep it straight. He takes off his hat and knocks off his glasses and scrubs a hand down his face, trying to soothe his nerves.

 

He killed him. He was dying already, but he’d killed him.

 

What if respawn didn’t work? What if this is the time that it doesn’t pick him up? He wishes he’d stayed with his body, waited for respawn to grab it, so he’d know. He doesn’t dare return, if his body is still there, a wing of blood painted on the ground from his head – from _Sniper’s_ bullet – it makes him sick thinking about it.

 

He sits in his nest for hours without firing a single shot. He doesn’t even get up off the floor. He waits for the klaxon, signaling the end of the fighting for the day. And not only that, but it signals respawn being shut off, and with the flip of a switch, mortality returns to the mercenaries.

 

===

 

Respawn picks up Scout almost right away and he's back on the field, carrying on his day as usual, though a little more wary of any spies that might pop up. He'll be prepared this time. It never occurs to him how worried the RED Sniper must be about him. Why would he be worried? It's not like he died forever. So he doesn't bother searching him out to thank him. He can do all of that later. It's too risky to visit him on the job, anyway. 

 

It's not until later that night when the majority of the men are sleeping that Scout decides to pay Sniper a visit, which had started to become routine. He's a bit late tonight though. He was nearly caught on his way out and had to come up with some excuse, how he was just out for a stroll because he couldn't sleep and must've wandered too far. He shows up at Sniper's van an hour later than normal, but late is better than never. He gives the back door a few light knocks, shivering a bit from the coolness of the dessert at night, waiting for the Sniper to open it. 

 

When he hears the knocks, Sniper’s whole body seizes up. He’d been staring at his watch for the past several hours, sucking his way through a whole box of cigarettes, much faster than his usual casual smoking habit. He jerks out of his seat so fast that he overturns a half-empty warm beer and it spills across the floor.

 

He throws the door open, nearly taking Scout’s nose off with it, and stares down at the younger man just long enough for it to register that he is definitely there and definitely okay, before he launches out of the camper and wraps Scout in a hug so tight he can barely breathe.

 

“Jesus, kid,” he hisses into his shoulder, arms wrapped so tightly around his slim waist that he’s almost touching his own ribcage.

 

"Whoa, hey!" The Scout laughs, a bit surprised by the embrace. It isn't often that the sniper is this affectionate. Not to say that he never is, but it still takes him by surprise. He pats his back, before pulling away from the hug. "The hell's gotten into you? You look shittier than I did earlier." He teases, giving him a light shove to his shoulder, before walking past him and hopping into his camper. "Got any beers left or did ya drink 'em all?" He asks, looking around and noticing all of the empty bottles and cigarette butts lying around. 

 

Sniper puts most of his weight on the door frame as he looks the young man over. It’s so hard to go from seeing him dying in his arms to this, hopping around like the kid he is. “Yeah, in- there in the crate, under the table,” his voice is a hoarse croak. He’s too old to deal with this kind of Shakespearian bullshit.

 

"Sweet." He grabs a beer, cracking it open and taking his usual seat at the table. He looks over at the sniper and cocks an eyebrow. Something is definitely up. "Yo, seriously, what's your deal? You on something, or…? You ain't lookin' too good. I'd tell you to have a smoke or somethin' but, uh.." He gestures to what could have easily been a pack's worth of cigarette butt's in the ash tray. "Looks like that ain't working'. Seriously, chill out, you're startin' to stress me out."

 

Sniper collapses wearily into the chair on the other side of the small table and hangs his head in his hands. He looks up at the younger man and his hands itch to be filled with Scout’s hands, his shoulders, his face, he wants to touch him and hold him close and feel the warmth that left him in Sniper’s arms.

 

He doesn’t reach for his hands. Scout would just tell him to stop treating him like a girl.

 

“I’m just – I’m – shit,” he doesn’t know what to say. His hands are visibly shaking as he takes off his hat and tosses it in the empty sink across the small camper. It feels too hot on his head and he suddenly feels claustrophobic. He can’t breathe, and the need to hold Scout is growing. “I’m sorry, mate, I’m just a little – ” he clears his throat and shakes his head. “I guess I’m just anxious.”

 

"Anxious?" He snorts. "What the hell for?" He rolls his eyes, drinking for the bottle before setting it down. "Ah, get over it, don't be a pussy. I bet it's nothing." He lets out a small laugh. Spending his years growing up around brothers has trained him to not expose his emotions, which has the unfortunate and unintended side effect of not being able to read them in others.

 

Sniper almost gets it. He’s considerably older than Scout, he’s had almost twice the time to understand his mortality. Scout is still young and invincible, untouchable by the world. He’s the hero of his own story, and even dying couldn’t slow him down.

 

He tightens his hands into fists before releasing the tension in his body with a sigh. “It ain’t nothing,” he mutters, looking out the small, streaky window to his right. “I spent the last ten hours worryin’ that maybe you were dead. _Dead,_ dead. Shit, forget it.”

 

Pushing up out of his chair, he escapes while he still can. The door of the camper slams shut on its springs behind him and he inhales the cool night air with relish. He has to put some distance between himself and the Scout before he does something foolish like dare to show his feelings.

 

"What?" The Scout gets up when the sniper does, taking a few steps toward the edge of the camper, but the door shuts hard in his face.

 

He stares blankly at the door for a moment. Did he really think he was actually dead? He opens the door, looking down at the sniper without stepping out. "…You thought I was _actually_ dead? Why the hell would I actually be dead, don't be dumb. I ain't dead obviously, so calm the hell down, alright?"

 

It isn't that he doesn't care, he just doesn't understand. He can't imagine why the sniper would even worry about it in the first place, let alone still be upset over it, even when Scout is obviously alive, and his normal self.

 

The Sniper waves a hand dismissively over his shoulder. “I said forget it,” he barks. “It’s fine- I’m fine.”

 

He’s so far from the realm of fine. He needs another cigarette.

 

"You ain't fine now calm the hell down and get back in here." He huffs before hopping out of the back of the van, grabbing onto the Sniper's arm, and tries to pull him back in. "I'm fine, look at me! Why the hell are you still worryin'?" He asks, still holding onto his arm. 

 

Sniper turns to face the younger man. He can’t look at his face without seeing the blood pour out of his mouth, without seeing the terror and pain in his eyes. He takes the younger man by the shoulders and pulls him forward and kisses him, rough. It tastes like weak beer and stale blood and their teeth click together. It’s nothing sweet or romantic or gentle, it sparks the start of a headache, but it’s the only thing keeping him from spilling everything.

 

I was worried sick.

I thought I was gonna die.

I can barely live with myself.

I would have preferred it if you bled out.

I’m selfish.

Seeing you with your brains blown out is gonna haunt me for the rest of my life.

I love you.

 

_“Don’t be such a girl.”_

He wraps his arms tight around Scout’s waist and swallows the young man’s breath, a sign of his life. He feels the lithe muscles under the young man’s blue shirt, warm and solid and alive. He knocks off his hat to run a hand through his hair, feel for the exit wound he knows isn’t there anymore. He’s not going to cry. He’s not going to cry.

 

The Scout's eyes widen as he's pulled into the kiss, hands groping at the front of the sniper's shirt before finally grabbing on, bracing himself for the rough kiss. He still can't understand why the Sniper would be so upset about it, but he's making it pretty clear that things probably aren't okay. He returns the for a while longer, trying to keep up with him, he feels completely overpowered.

 

Scout pulls back for air, wearing a concerned expression, his hands moving to rest on the Sniper's shoulders. "Hey, hey, look, I'm fine, see? All good! Hell, I could probably take ten more shots to the head! Uh, well, I mean, not right this second, that'd actually be pretty bad- But you know what I mean, I'm fine, alright?"

 

Sniper rests his burning forehead against the young man’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he croaks, filling his arms with Scout’s waist, just to feel his body against his own. “Do me a favor and never… _never_ ask me to do that again.”

 

The Scout wraps his arms around the Sniper's shoulders and runs his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, yeah, no problem. I'll just ask someone else to do it." He teases, pulling him in a bit tighter, almost hanging off of him. "Hey, it's fuckin' freezing out here though, did ya wanna go back inside?"

 

The camper is warm and smells like tobacco. Too warm. Sniper peels off his vest and picks Scout up around the waist, sitting him on the small table and stepping between his legs. He runs his hands down the younger man’s arms, rubs his thumbs in circles over his meager biceps. He holds him in place and presses his cold nose to his colder throat, and exhales hotly to warm him up. He kisses away the goose bumps and fits his big hands over Scout’s slender hips.

 

“I dunno what I’d do without you, kiddo,” he breathes in a flash of insecurity, and squeezes his eyes shut tight against the threat of moisture. He’s not going to cry. He’s not going to cry. He pulls his arms tight around Scout’s waist, crushing their chests together, soaking in his heat and his tremors and every little muscle twitch and shiver and crest of his body that breathes and pumps blood. His confident body language, the very hair on his skin screaming for him, screaming ‘I’m alive!’

 

He kisses him then, hard again, but then softer. He takes Scout’s face and kisses him softer than he’s ever kissed him before, barely ghosting, more like a suggestion of a kiss, and then he’s rough again and deep, tasting him and tracing promises behind Scout’s teeth.

 

The Scout tries to keep up with the kisses, letting out a shaky breath through his nose. The way Sniper is kissing him is overpowering. He grabs onto the front of his shirt to hold him in close, keeping his hands from shaking over the intensity of it. He lets Sniper do whatever he pleases without a struggle, following his lead. Eventually he needs to pull away for air, keeping their foreheads presses together, panting softly, his cheeks flushed bright pink. 

 

"Man, maybe you should get anxious more often if you're gonna kiss me like that every time," He teases, letting go of his shirt to move to the back of the other's head. He doesn’t want him to pull away just yet, but he was going to wait for him to kiss him again instead of going back in himself. He was going to let Sniper have him how ever he wanted.

 

Sniper pants out a laugh and shakes his head. “I don’t know if I could stand this again,” he rumbles, his voice scorched. He mouths at Scout’s neck, sucking and biting and pulls them close again, too close for Scout to hold onto his short, and force him to hold onto something else.

 

He rolls their hips together, once, twice, swallowing Scout’s fraught moans. He chews on the kid’s lower lip, sucks it into his mouth and bites down, licks away the spark of pain and sucks on his tongue. He kisses Scout like he’s never been kissed before, like he’ll never be kissed again, until he feels the young man rise up against his belly and he knows he’s ruined kissing for him with anyone else for the rest of his life.

 

“Mine,” he whispers into Scout’s mouth, flicks his tongue over the roof of his mouth and inhales his groan like it were his own breath.

 

"Shit…" He whimpers into the other's mouth before their lips collide again, muffling his quiet moan. His whole body presses flat against the Sniper's, his legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He's thankful that he's sitting because he isn't sure if he'd be able to stay on his feet being kissed like this. His whole body shudders as he exhales through his nose, groping blindly at the back of the Sniper's shirt, desperate for more of anything.

 

Sniper doesn’t break the life-changing, earth-moving kiss for an instant while he muddles with the Scout’s belt, and then his own, jerking their pants open. Scout is considerably harder than he is, not a big surprise given his age and inexperience and the assault of pleasure he’s faced with. He closes his big, warm hand around Scout’s cock and pulses pressure into his groin whilst kissing down his neck and tonguing the folds of his ear.

 

“I wanna go down on you,” he whispers, his voice rough and sandy. “I wanna suck you off and then turn you over and eat you out and then I’m gonna fuck you over this table.”

 

Scout lets out soft moans, hips pushing forward into the Sniper's hand, already panting. "Oh Jesus, do it, please, shit I need you, I gotta feel you, please." He groans out, whining in anticipation, breath heavy.

 

Sniper doesn’t mince words. He drops to his knees a little harder than necessary but the spike of pain keeps him sharp and he closes his mouth around the head of Scout’s cock. He closes his eyes and gives his attention to the weight on his tongue, sucking evenly, and pulls off the young man’s cleats. He discards them near the door with twin thuds and starts to worm his pants down off his legs.

 

He kisses Scout’s inner thighs and sucks a mark directly to the right of his balls and finally gets the pants down off his ankles and tosses them away. Scout writhes when he fits his mouth over his prick again and swallows him down almost to the root.

 

There’s something about the smell of this kid that drives the Aussie wild. He smells young, like how puppy’s breath is distinct from dog’s breath. His sweat is acidic, sharp on his nose and salty on his tongue. His skin is smooth and hairless, save for that untamed mess at the base of his cock that Sniper couldn’t begin to care if he groomed or not. It tickles his nose when he really gets down deep, and the sensation is comforting.

 

He closes his hands over Scout’s thighs and bobs his head in a fluid motion, his tongue flat and wide and soft and then narrow and pointed and probing into veins and ridges.

 

The scout lets out a string of soft moans and gasps, his hips rolling up against Sniper's mouth. His breath hitched and he stuttered out curses and praises every time the Sniper took him in again, his toes curling from pleasure.

 

"Ah yeah, fuck yes yes yes,you're fuckin' amazing, shit, yes…."

 

He always loved when the sniper went down on him. He always knew exactly what he was doing, how to get him to moan out and make his head spin, and nearly send him off the edge in seconds. It was pretty obvious he had a lot of practice, which the Scout wishes he could say about himself, but it didn't really matter. He'd much rather be receiving than giving anyway. Especially if he was receiving from the Sniper. 

 

He almost whines when the Sniper withdraws, but then he’s flipped over onto his belly on the table and his hips are pulled back far enough that his cock hangs down between his legs, and the Sniper resumes.

 

He licks several long, flat strokes up the underside of the Scout’s dribbling prick, drawing a little higher every time. He sucks at the base, his nose pressed into the velvety soft skin of the kid’s balls, and then he nibbles his way higher, across his inner thigh and to his destination. His tongue presses against his lover’s pucker in time with his fingers wrapping around his engorged and wet cock.

 

“Sit still,” he scolds when the Scout’s hips kick back energetically and his coccyx hits the Sniper in the nose. He bites down on Scout’s defenseless ass cheek once to get his point across, but then fills his mouth again with the gathered skin fluttering under his tongue.

 

The scout grits his teeth, letting out heavy huffs as his hands ball up in fists, trying his hardest not to push his hips back too much. Every now and then a moan escapes him, if that's what it can even be called. It much more like a whine than anything else. His legs are trembling, going weak, absolutely melting with every flick of the sniper's tongue. He holds in most of the little noises that want to flow from his mouth, his chest heaving with his shaking breaths. 

 

Sniper knicks the tender skin of Scout’s pucker with his teeth to let him know exactly what he thinks about the kid holding back his voice, and then rewards the unbidden shout he gets in response with a little TLC, laving his tongue over the offending raw skin and then deeper still, wriggling his tongue past muscle and into warm flesh. He spreads Scout’s cheeks with his hands, leaving his cock unattended for now. He’d get back to that after he finished dining.

 

He's sure not to hold back on the moans and whimpers that roll from him anymore, his hands helplessly fisting and clawing at the table top, looking for something, anything to grab on to. His breath comes in short gasps as he feels the warm, wet muscle inside of him. 

 

"Holy shit..." He breathes out, rolling his hips back just slightly. "Fuck, don't stop, please don't stop, more, more, please…!" He whines, tears starting to prick at the corners of his eyes.

 

Sniper presses a finger in beside his tongue, wetting it as it slides in, and Scout keens. He’s so soft and open for him, he can feel the kid’s heartbeat on his tongue and it makes him reel all over again, appreciating him for just being alive.

 

He presses in a second finger, tracing the stretched skin with his tongue and two makes way for three as Scout’s muscles soften around him and let him in. Pliant and eager, opening with enthusiasm and willingness and if Sniper would take a moment to indulge himself he might think love.

 

“God you’re ripe for it tonight,” he murmurs, dipping his head to mouth at Scout’s abandoned cock while his fingers work him open with nothing but his saliva. It’s hot and a little rough, but he knows the kid would only complain if he stopped now to get the Vaseline. He’ll go for it before the main event, but for now Scout clearly appreciates the friction.

 

The Scout's hips push right back against the Sniper's fingers, rolling against them eagerly, hungry to feel them deeper inside of him. He tenses up slightly at the raw feeling, but quickly relaxes, enjoying the roughness and slight sting of the other's finger's moving in and out of him, stretching and opening him. He clenches his jaw, his moans and whines turning into grunts and pants and heavy breaths.

 

"Oh fuck, oh fuck..." He groans out between shaky breaths, his toes curling as he pushes back against the hand again.

 

“You ready for me yet, sport?” Sniper hums, kissing his way up Scout’s thigh, up his back and then his neck, nibbling on his earlobe. He grinds his trapped package against the flattened Scout’s thigh, emphasizing his own need with a torn-up groan, hot on Scout’s neck.

 

"Yes, yes, please!" He whines as he rolls his hips on the Sniper's hand when he feels the movement of his fingers stop, the Sniper's own cock rubbing against him. He needs him and he needs him now or he fears he might actually burst. "Hurry, fuck, please, c'mon, c'mon, please!"

 

The sound Scout makes when Sniper pulls his fingers out sends shivers rippling through him. He scrambles for the Vaseline he keeps hidden away in his single cupboard and drops the cap in his haste to get it off. He kicks it under the table to keep it out of the way and smears the sticky substance over his dick.

 

He leans out over the Scout on the table and guides himself in with one hand, right to the hilt in one shot. Scout wails like a cat and arches back against him, and Sniper takes one moment to wipe his hand off on his trousers so he can get a good grip on the table on either side of the Scout at shoulder height, and sets right into a pace that rocks the younger man beneath him.

 

The Scout's moans come out as loud cries and broken gasps, barely able to catch his breath – the Sniper pounded it out of him with every thrust. He can't even find the strength to roll back against the other's movements, paralyzed by the raw pleasure that shook through his body in waves. His moans and shouts easily fill the entire camper, gasping the other's name every now and then when he's able to find words, his hands clawing and hitting the table beneath him, desperately needing something to grab on to.

 

Sniper chews his own lips in an effort to keep quiet, so he can hear every noise that wrings out of the Scout’s throat. Every single pound of his body against the table, every yelp and slap of skin, every ragged breath and needy whine. Every pulse of blood and muscle shake, every sign that lets him know he’s alive.

 

 _Perfect, you’re perfect,_ he thinks privately, his teeth clenched too tightly for him to speak. His knuckles turn white on the edges of the table, his sweat beads on his forehead and drips on the Scout’s shoulders, his thigh muscles tighten and burn, it’s all so good.

 

The surge of his body, filling the empty spaces inside Scout, makes his heart swell. They fit together, neither too big or too small, neither too tight or too loose, the perfect size and shape and grip to prove that they belong.

 

Sniper lowers his forehead between the Scout’s shoulder blades and slows his pace to a deep grind. He kisses the back of Scout’s neck and helps him shimmy out of his shirt, letting it fall in a heap on one of the chairs. He kisses down the young man’s spine as far as he can go without pulling out of the warmth and comfort of his body.

 

Scout can't vocalize it too well, but his moans are enough to let the other know how close he was. He was right on edge, about to completely lose it at any moment. He holds on as best as he can, because like hell he wants this to end. He manages to push his hips back, rocking them in a stuttering motion, his teeth gritting for a moment as he let out a groan, before gasping when the sniper hit him at just the right angle, and he cries out again, his back arching.

 

“Touch yourself,” Sniper commands, growling in the young man’s ear. Scout doesn’t have to be told twice as Sniper pushes back up on his hands and brings the pace back up to its original peak, rocking the camper with their rough lovemaking.

 

Scout couldn’t have held on a moment longer if it woulda caused world peace. He comes screeching, sticky on Sniper’s floor, his muscles fluttering around him like a vice. The Sniper’s head feels screwed on too tight, his arms tremble and his legs ache, he’s so close.

 

He fills the kid in the next few thrusts, bites down on his shoulder and groans into it. Pleasure coils down his legs and through his belly, melting him from the inside out. He whimpers without shame, wrapping his arms around Scout to lever him a few inches off the cold table.

 

“Christ, kid,” he pants, still in to the hilt. He doesn’t want to pull out any time soon. He kisses Scout’s sweaty neck, kisses the freckles on his shoulders. “Oh my God. Shit, I love you.”

 

It takes the Scout a moment to catch his breath and gather his thoughts, actually getting his head to work again. He smiles lazily, closing his eyes, nodding.

 

"Yeah, I-" He stops himself, realizing what the sniper had just said. He opens his eyes up, silent for a moment. Of course he knows that the sniper loves him. It’s just… so weird hearing him actually say it. Honestly, he never thought he would hear him say it. He just didn't seem like the type. He didn't mind all that much though, because he knew. But hearing him say it just made his heart flutter.

 

He felt like he lost his breath for a quick second, like a damn school girl. "I love you too…" Words he never thought he'd hear _himself_ say. 

 

Sniper’s eyes had been comfortably closed as he relished in the last few moments of warmth before pulling out. They snap open when he hears the younger man speak, and it occurs to him in that second that maybe he didn’t actually just _think_ the words.

 

“Oh. Oh god, did I just – shit, fuck,” he pulls out of the Scout in a rush and jerks his pants closed, his face lighting up hot and red. “Oh Christ I just said that – you just – did you- you actually- wait, back up, you- ”

 

The scout sat up just a bit so he could look at the sniper, his eyes wide with confusion and worry. He was afraid he had said something horribly wrong. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything at all. Maybe he should have just nodded and agreed. What if he fucked everything up now? What if everything was ruined because he can't keep his damn mouth shut? His heart is pounding in his chest from worry, but he tries to not let it show.

 

"Uh… what? Yeah you… I don't see what the big deal is..." He says, swallowing a lump in his throat.

 

Looking at him, sitting buck ass nude save for his socks on Sniper’s measly table, sitting in his camper, in his home, in the only thing he owns, willingly there, still sweaty and glowing (if a little anxious) after making love, it’s impossible for Sniper to stay nervous.

 

He takes the step separating them and smoothes his hands down Scout’s arms. “I just… didn’t expect you to say it back, is all,” he runs his hands back up to cup the younger man’s narrow face.

 

The Scout lets out a sigh of relief, a smile returning to his face. "Don't you fuckin' scare me like that, you ass. Thought I fucked up or something." He laughs, leaning in to place a light but loving kiss on the older man's lips. 

 

“Nah, you could never fuck up. You’re perfect,” Sniper grins into the younger man’s mouth.

 

“Heh, yeah I am.”

 

Sniper wraps his arms tight around the younger man, his lover. His love. Alive, for now, and well, and whole, and warm and safe in his arms.

 

They might die again.

They might die a hundred more times.

But if this is what they get to come back to every night, the Sniper thinks he might be able to cope.


End file.
